...next to Bill Murray, in questionable hotel somewhere in Asia, and he's saying to me: "No one will ever believe you."

It's Saturday and I'm sitting here bored, in my pajamas, listening to the mixed CD I made for my car, waiting for the wind to die down, for me to get hungry enough and for the thought of having baked beans for supper to make me sick enough that I get changed and actually leave the house.

I'm stumbling because I'm lazy and my attention span is proving short. I "stumble" across this:

Fifty People, One Question: Brooklyn from Fifty People, One Question on Vimeo.

My first answer was my bed since it's become my best friend over the last week or two. My next answer, after a bit of thought, was the title of this post which was brought on by reading the Bill Murray stories on No One Will Ever Believe You.

A part of me wishes (maybe just a little too hard) that at least some of the stories are true. Then there'll at least be a chance, infinitesimally small, that something similarly, awesomely, surreal might happen to me one day. It's not like I want to have his children and my walls aren't plastered with posters of him, but Bill Murray is made of awesomeness and who wouldn't wanted him to whisper those sweet, six words to them? Oh ok, just me then...



PS. If you haven't seen Zombieland, do so.

Hiatus

My resolution to blog regularly has gone the same way as my resolutions to go to gym regularly, to eat more healthily, to save money, to drink less. What can I say? I'm just not good at these things? Or rather, I'm good at these things over short periods of time given that there is a suitable reward. I'm a simple creature really.

I've had plenty to say but no real motivation/time to write anything. I'm not going to write about everything that has happened over the last few weeks in detail (you're surely not that interested in my life). However, I will mention a few things I've learned:

-It's possible to have a perfectly satisfying fake date with a colleague and to leave it at that.
-I cannot go to Long Street, have one cider, and be home before midnight.
-I can have a good time with complete strangers who are male, no expectations, no pressure, dance the night away, talk about love, life and everything else, never see them again and leave it at that.
-Noname is my glue*.
-Being competent at work attracts unwanted attention.
-Johannesburg is not as awful as I once thought. In fact it's more than pleasant**.
-Drinking many Tequilas and Jagermeisters and then getting into a car that will eventually move is a bad idea.
-Tequila and Amarula shooter is surprisingly quite tasty.
-I accost talk to random strangers when drunk.
-I'm morbidly fascinated by websites dedicated to the horror that is the fake tan.



* I need to expand on this a bit. Noname is currently in hospital after I discovered a deep scratch on his chest. I overreacted and the thought of losing him really made me feel like falling apart and that I could not cope with other stressors. I've been to visit him twice now and besides the hole in his chest, he is doing really well: purring and meowing. His hospital card says that his a "bit wild", "scratches" and something about "escape". How dare they say this about my angel! Seeing Noname has really put me at ease, knowing that I'll have him back in a day and after calming down and realising he's not going to die, I just cannot picture not having him around anymore. I decided that he's the glue keeping everything from falling apart. His second name will henceforth be Gluhwein since he's a bit of a whiner as well. How I've missed that whine this weekend.


**Only certain areas, of course, like Melville and Greenside. Pictures to follow.

This is a local place for local people (or Saturday that was)

Saturday morning, after having a few too many at the local bar Friday evening and wanting to escape the wrath of the vacuum cleaner the cleaning lady was intent on unleashing on me, I went to the local coffee café, Frangipanis, for breakfast.

It's simple, local pleasures like having a lazy breakfast, noticing the trees crowding the small gardens of the Victorian homes, watching the world go by and people doing their every day things, that are most enjoyable.

After breakfast, I needed to go to the local, family-run grocery to store get some bread and milk but was distracted by one of the many local antiques stores which had on display what I thought was the perfect bookcase. It was a display cabinet, not the elusive perfect bookcase, but upon further browsing I found a lovely retro drinks table. It was overpriced but I had to have it and managed to get a R150 discount.

Once home, I did my new, favourite thing and sat down on my lounger on the balcony with a cider, watching the going-ons of the harbour and baking in the sun.

After a nap it was time to venture further afield. It was time to leave the comfort of local and I met up with a friend and his friends from Johannesburg in Long Street. After mediocre Mexican food and cocktails I was not really in the mood for dancing but didn't want to go home. I pub/club hopped with the group but was soon overwhelmed by the crowds and smoke. After midnight I allowed my transformation into a pumpkin and headed home.

De Kelders photos

Telling a friend about the prawn and salmon sashimi* I had last night reminded me of a photo I insisted on taking while weekending in De Kelders:

Western Cape's D9?

The rest of the photos:

Why do some people think that dead animal heads make for good decor? Ernest is the wildebeest and Hans is on the right. He was named Hans because his antlers made him look german. I forget the name of the one in the middle.

How could someone kill Pumbaa?

Danger Point lighthouse

Dead bird I named the beach after

Some of De Kelders (caves) the town is named after

Sea sponge with coral

Shell carpet

*His response was "Fokken prawns"

The quiet weekend that wasn't

I had made the decision that the only way to remedy my tiredness of late was the spend the entire weekend in my bed. It was to be a quiet weekend. It didn't help that I woke up bored on Saturday. And after much yes no-ing I finally settled on no. And sent a text to WikidKnickers: I'm not going to make. Go on without me. Save yourselves. Tell my wife I love her. WikidKnickers replied: *sulks*. It was the most effective *sulk* ever. So I threw on some cloths, painted my face and set off for Fiddle East.


Fiddle East is a Balkan themed party. A smaller and more regular version of Balkanology. You can hear "a fusion of Gypsy, Serbian, Macedonian, Bulgarian and Romanian melodies". It's held at one of Cape Town's hidden gems and one of my favourite venues, The Albert Hall in my 'hood, Woodstock. While I've never made it to a Balkanology, this was my third time at a Fiddle East party. It was the best one so far. The problems of a too packed venue and a waiting time of thirty minutes at the bar were solved by opening the backyard of Albert Hall and setting up an extra bar. Vintage lamps were strung up, persian carpets hung and an abundance of cushions strewn. The energy from the DJs were infectious. And I danced my hiney off. Until my feet were begging me: No more!

Ghostly Gypsy couple


BabyAcid & WikidKnickers


The Juggler


Me and an awesome new friend

Sunday I had the same problem. I woke up bored and wanted to get out and do something. I decided that it'd be shopping. So I called up my favourite shopping partner, my mum. She was having lunch with her brother but she'd be able to go shopping after lunch. My plan was to buy some of the supplies for Rocking the Daisies, to window shop and to buy other small things. This plan was effectively ruined when I walked into the second shop and found my lounge chair had been "Priced to go" knocking R700 off the price. I had to get it. As well as a more portable lounger that I could take with to RtD. The lounger took up most of the space in the car and I fore went the rest of the shopping trip in favour lugging the rather large, rather heavy lounger home before taking my mother back and visiting family to borrow some supplies for camping (an airbed and an electronic pump).

All together a very happy weekend. I like getting what I want. I like getting it on sale even better.

I like 3s, 4s, 5s, 6s, 7s and 10s

Someone asked me to define crazy when I said that I attract crazy people. Being lazy I figured that I'd just copy the Dictionary.com definition. It's actually pretty comprehensive.


crazy
/ˈkreɪzi/ Show Spelled Pronunciation [krey-zee], -zi⋅er, -zi⋅est, noun, plural -zies.
–adjective

1.	mentally deranged; demented; insane.

2.	senseless; impractical; totally unsound: a crazy scheme.

3.	Informal. intensely enthusiastic; passionately excited: crazy about baseball.

4.	Informal. very enamored or infatuated (usually fol. by about): He was crazy about her.

5.	Informal. intensely anxious or eager; impatient: I'm crazy to try those new skis.

6.	Informal. unusual; bizarre; singular: She always wears a crazy hat.

7.	Slang. wonderful; excellent; perfect: That's crazy, man, crazy.

8.	likely to break or fall to pieces.

9.	weak, infirm, or sickly.

10.	having an unusual, unexpected, or random quality, behavior, result, pattern, etc.: a crazy reel that spins in either direction.

I could deal with 1s but only if their mental illness is under control somehow and if they have a bit of 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, or 10 in them. I'm complete unwilling to deal with 2s in any way, shape or form. I could be supportive of 8s and 9s but find them taxing. 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, or 10 is just perfectly descriptive of some of the qualities I like in my crazies.

The weekend (and Monday) that was

The weekend started on Thursday but Thursday was spent removing cat hair from all surfaces, baking, and being firmly attached to my bed. The plan was to go to Betty's Bay for the rest of the weekend but my urge to do something else and go somewhere different took over and we found ourselves in De Kelders. We was myself, Trix and boyfriend and a couchsurfer from Germany. Trix found us a comfy, albeit horrendously decorated, low cost apartment. It was the Whale Festival and accommodation was not easy to be found. And not cheap either.

De Kelders is now my new favourite seaside town. We didn't get to explore the caves since they were closed but did get to hang out at the beach. I decided to brave the chilly waters even though I was more afraid of dead bird cooties than the cold. The water was decidedly pleasant and soon the dead bird was forgotten as I floated, staring up at the blue, cloud spotted sky. The beach later became known as Dead Bird's Beach but the I think the real name is actually Stanford's Bay. Whatever. I like Dead Bird's Beach better.

Later, after a few glasses of wine, there was the salad dressing drinking incident and other hilarities. We went to bed first ensuring that all animal skin carpets were out of sight and I woke up far too late the next morning but luckily no one had finished the delicious peanut butter cheesecake I had made. After finding the caves closed and the weather turning foul we decided to head off to Hermanus. We'd spotted a few whales before heading off and saw even more in Hermanus. There were even more whales frolicking in the ocean in Hermanus. I say frolicking but they were probably having sex.

After the long drive home I once again firmly attached myself to my bed until late Sunday afternoon, missing lunch with my mother but making it in time for afternoon tea. Supper was with an old friend from university that I haven't seen in far too long.

Monday proved to be utterly miserable. It's difficult to adjust to work after a 4 day weekend. My couchsurfer had to stay an extra night and wanted to take me to the movies to make up for it. We had sushi at Sevruga and I found it difficult to move after insisting on eating the last 3 pieces of sushi.

We watched Public Enemies and I can highly recommend this movie for reasons other than perving over Johnny Depp and Christian Bale. It's a top notch crime movie. It has a stellar cast but I wasn't mad about the female lead and would much rather have had some of the actresses playing cameos to have played the lead. Some of the scenes are far too long. And the movie was shot in HD. While some scenes are beautifully shot, others -incidently the ones that could have been cut, looked like they were scenes from some horrible cheap, crime reenactment show. It's hard not to fall in love with John Dillinger and some of his lines in the movie are entirely quotable.

What do you want?
Everything. Right now.


We're having too good a time today. We ain't thinking about tomorrow.

Things falling into place

You know when nothing goes right. When you make decisions and change things and you think, hey this is all for the better, and then it turns out not to be. And it's just worse. And you think how can things still be bad? How is it that I had this idea and it was suppose to be perfect and it's very far from perfect?

It'll be three years ago in a few months that I made a decision. A resolution. I'm not big on new year's resolutions but this time I made one. It was one of those typical one. I was going to get a new job. I made this decision when it became apparent that I was not going to be promoted into a senior position anytime soon. And that no position I wanted or was qualified for at my current place of work was going to become available soon. I was impatient. And bored. My job was fine but not particularly challenging after a while.

It took me 5 and a half months to get a new job. I was ecstatic. And that's where it all started.

Things never go the way you want them to. I had a new job and a fancy new title. I would finally be earning enough money to afford my own place, and to pay for my car and student loan. My work was sending me to Slovenia within a month and a half of joining the company. But I didn't get my passport in time because government workers decided to go on strike that month. So I sat alone in the office, looking for flats, while the rest of the new employees were off having a ball on the Mediterranean coast.

Flat hunting was not fun. None of the places were what I expected. And the ones that I wanted were out of my price range. I finally settled. I had to. My mother was now going to stay with me after I finally convinced her that she's better off divorcing my father.

So we moved into a flat complex with three hundred flats. We didn't have a lot of furniture and what we had was mostly borrowed. We were broke. The neighbours were inconsiderate. The flat was too close to the train tracks. And we couldn't get rid of the cockroaches. My rats died one after the other, from old age. Then one of my dogs died too. I couldn't get along with my mother. I had a major car accident with a car rented for work. My passenger and colleague crack bones in her back, shoulder and pelvis. I had a few bruises but I was shattered. I went to Barcelona later that year. I was promoted despite the accident and had to attend a meeting as part of my new responsibilities. I was glad since the promotion meant that I wouldn't have to drive that much anymore. While I was in Barcelona the geyser back home burst and my mother was slightly electrocuted. She didn't tell me about the electrocution until I got back but I'd already put plans in place to move. I had had enough. My mother went to stay with a brother and I found a great, new place in a neighbourhood I always wanted to live in.


The neighbours were even more inconsiderate here. I was still broke. The walls might as well have been nonexistent. I could hear my neighbours watching TV, washing the dishes, flushing the toilet. I didn't need to set my alarm clock in the morning since I was woken at four every morning my the beeping trucks outside. The bedroom and bathroom got no light at all and everything got mouldy. At least there were no cockroaches. Yet. One of the pipes for the pool on the roof burst and started leaking into my flat. The paint went black with mould. The cat I had decided to give a home was proving impossible. He'd run away and it would take me hours to catch him again. He would meow at the top of his lungs to be let out and destroyed the blinds trying to escape through a window. I hated the new job I'd gotten. I was bored and my social life was unsatisfying.

I moved again at the beginning of the new year. And that's when it ended. And something else started. I again started a new job but with the same company. The one I wanted when I had started with the company two years back but thought that I would need at least five years experience to get it. Despite crashing a few cars and hating my job I guess I still did really well and people noticed. I guess that moment when the carpet repairers left the door of my new place open and Noname sat outside, just looking, not running away, was when I first knew that this was it. When I was told that I got the job I knew then that the neurotic mess I was for an entire month was just a waste of energy. Because things had already started falling into place.

And maybe things started happening before moving to my current place, without me realising what it was at the time. My mom's divorce went well and she was able to support herself and pay off her debt with the money she got from her share of the house. Our relationship improved. I wasn't as broke anymore and started doing new, different things and meeting more people.

And things aren't perfect now. And it never will be. But it's as perfect as it can be. And I'm thinking if the pride I'm feeling right now is justified. Why should I feel proud if it's just a hodge-podge of things falling apart and then falling into place? Did I really do anything to be where I am now? I did, I guess. Even if it was only weathering the storm. I kept trying even though I was just so incredibly tired.

And I still don't know if it's worth it. If it's worth going through all that shit, for so long, then having some moments of happiness before things start falling apart again. Is it inevitable that things will start falling apart again? Is it something you cause? Is there anything you can do besides just weathering the storm?

These are metaphysical, existential questions for another day. My optimism right now is not allowing me to consider such questions for more than a trifling second.

I will just be. And things will be handled when they happen.

The weekend that was

Friday was a write off. I knew that from the second I stepped in my door, headed straight for bedroom and face planted on my bed. I stayed in bed, eventually moving my face and body into a more comfortable position. After reluctantly getting out of bed to attend to some business my body wasn't willing to go back to sleep. So I watched a movie, surfed the internet, and chatted to a friend who'd spent her evening much more productively at a club getting naked. Eventually I slept again.

After much uhm-ing and ah-ing about what exactly to do on Saturday after accomplishing 80 percent of my chores (removing layers of cat hair from carpets and tiles, laundry, etc.), I headed off to Stellenbosch with Trix and her boyfriend, Adam. To the last remaining indoor skate park. Adam is the skater, not Trix. En route, enjoying the warmth of the sun on my skin and winelands scenery, many a joke was made about 10 year old skaters. Upon arrival at the skate park I discovered the exactitude of our jokes. I did, however, spot three men, excluding Adam, who were capable of growing facial hair.

Adam, having already donned most of his protective gear at home, was attempting to secure his helmet to his head when I noticed that Adam was the only one sporting protective gear. Despite the sign stating that helmets are compulsory. Not even the 10 year olds were wearing so much as an elbow guard. After a few well placed sniggers, Trix and I set off for lunch.

Adam ready to take on the concrete of the skate park*

Adam the street skater mastering a ramp

It might just have been that I was starving but the pizzas were very good. After lunch we stopped at a Spar to pick some things for tea, hertzoggies and milk tart, true South African treats. We returned to the skate park to pick a somewhat bruised and battered Adam. We made another stop at a Spar closer to home to acquire ingredients for the burgers Adam were to make as soon as he'd showered all skate park sweat off him. At the Spar I spotted this:


I have no words.

Supper was the most delicious home made burgers I've ever had and I will forgive Adam his skateboarding habit just for this. I decided that we needed to watch Teeth.

It was terrible, but better than I expected. And it was HILARIOUS! I had an asthma attack from laughing so much. All the trouble getting the dvd to play (broken player and finicky Wii) was so worth it.

Overcoming the laziness from eating too much, I moseyed on home. I overslept on Sunday, missing yoga. The rest of the day was spent playing with Google SketchUp. SketchUp is a phenomenal program. So far I've made a kickass chair, following a tutorial, and a bookcase. I'm not sure if I have the skills, determination and creativity to design anything like the pieces on display in the warehouse but I'm enjoying playing and it'll serve me well to hand a carpenter a clear, simple design of the bookcase I want.




* Pictures are bad quality because Adam couldn't stand still long enough for my to adjust the camera settings.

I think a Tyrannosaurus skeleton would look lovely in my entrance hall

I'd need to get a bigger house though. And never mind that the Tyrannosaurus Rex skeleton is likely to fetch between $2 000 000 and $8 000 000. I mean that's a lot to pay for something you can't even play fetch with it like in Night at the Museum.

One of the three most complete Tyrannosaurus Rex skeletons is set to go under auction at the Venetian Casino in Las Vegas on 3 October. Up for auction will be various other fossils, including a duck-billed dinosaur and a ceratopsian (same family as Triceratops).

Since Rexxy is out of my price range, I might just have to settle for the Woolly Mammoth (going for $150 000 - $200 000). I'd still need to get a bigger house though.

In other news relating to bones, a new discovery has been made regarding human evolution and the spread of humans from Africa. While new discoveries are always exciting, I'm a bit disappointed since I'm rather in love with the Out of Africa theory and with South Africa being the Cradle of Humankind.

And speaking of evolution, a movie about Charles Darwin is set for release and it seems Americans have not taken too well to it.

LotD/SotD

I watched Sunshine again last night. And let the credits play through. And this song just spoke to me.

Along the avenue of hope
The footsteps falter, the fingers grope
and days, stretch out, beneath the sun
No-one's born, and no-one dies, no-one lives, so no-one cries
and we wait to see just what we will become


Don't let me falter, don't let me ride
Don't let the earth in me subside
Let me see just who I will become


You're like the clouds in my home town
You just grow fat and hang around
and you're days stretch out beneath the sun


and you don't live, you don't die, you don't love so you don't cry
and we wait, to see just what we will become


Don't let me borrow, don't let me bring
Don't let me wallow, don't make me sing
Let me see just who I will become


Don't let me falter, don't let me hide
Don't let someone else decide
Just who or what I will become


Don't let them borrow, don't let them bring
Don't let them wallow, don't make them sing

I am Kloot is quite good. Very good. I am acquiring more of their music and will be unable to wash myself of the shame for not discovering this band earlier.

Be gone winter...and some randomness

I'm not a summer person. I don't like heat. I don't do beaches. I have to squint and don sunglasses if there is even a hit of a sunbeam peeking out from behind some clouds. I sweat just thinking about stepping outside in temperatures above 26 degrees Celsius. I don't like sweating.*

While snuggling in bed with that awesome blankie, a cup of soup and a good book has it merits, I'm getting anxious to do more summery things. To the point where I'm cursing Derek van Dam** when ever he announces yet another incoming cold front.

My upstairs balcony gets great sun and I've decided to acquire a lounge chair, so that I can bake in the sun, sip cocktails*** while taking in the activities in the harbour. While I despise the flip-flip and wouldn't be seen dead in them despite my recent yearnings for summer, these coasters would go perfect for lounging, cocktail sipping.

I also want to work on the garden that I inherited from the previous occupants of my house. It was much of a garden when I moved in but is now worse for wear with all the weeds that have made the garden their home.

And I want lazy picnics in the botanical garden.

But I just know it's going to be a "Be careful what you wish for" situation. Once temperatures hit 32 degrees and I'm incapacited, sitting in a puddle of my own sweat, I will be swallowing my words. But until then I can dream of days lounging on my balcony, sipping cocktails, and nights lazing on the bed with a magazine, a cool breeze gently stirring the curtains (as opposed to keeping all doors and windows shut, suffocating in the heat, for fear of the Cape Doctor unleashing a tornado inside my house).

I've been trying to perfect my WABbing**** lately. The internet is quite useful for this. I've found this great site, Information is Beautiful. Now I can waste 97.6342% of my day looking at utterly useless charts and graphs, like this one comparing movie monsters or this map of drugs.



* I'm adding this to my reasons for not going to the gym.

** Just found his blog. This will be the start of a beautiful stalking friendship.

*** I also need a cocktail shaker. And various cocktail alcohols. Wishlist updated.

**** Work Avoidance Behaviour. I used to be stellar at this at uni but since starting working full-time my skills have degraded.

Patron of boundaries and those who cross them

The role of Hermes is usually only said to be that of messenger. But he was "the patron of boundaries and of the travelers who cross them, of shepherds and cowherds, of thieves and road travelers, of orators and wit, of literature and poets, of athletics, of weights and measures, of invention, of general commerce, and of the cunning of thieves and liars."

Hermes takes care of travellers, miscreants, harlots, old crones, thieves and athletes with injuries.

He is "an interpreter who bridges the boundaries with strangers".

He is a psychopomp. He wears sandals with wings (talaria) on them and uses them to fly freely between the mortal and immortal world and often helps travellers have a safe and easy journey.

I've struggled with an idea of a tattoo of a symbol of a Greek God or Goddess for some time. Never able to decide on one for the Goddess of discord, Eris, or the virgin hunter, Artemis. Or both. And which symbol.

So, I'm getting the wings of the talaria tattooed on my ankle until I can make up my mind about Eris and Artemis.

Feel free to contribute to the tattoo fund.

All info courtesy of Wikipedia.

Wanderlust

won-der-luhst

–noun
a strong, innate desire to rove or travel about.

Origin:
1850–55; <G, equiv. to wander(n) to wander + Lust desire>

I want to go. Anywhere. I don't care. And far. I want to pack my bags and spend hours roaming around an airport. I want swollen ankles from sitting down for 10 hours at 10 000 feet and sore shoulders from carrying a backpack. I want to feel frustration at trying to figure out a new train schedule. I want to cry again because I cannot fit all my clothes and trinkety souvenirs into my bag. I want to impulsively leave half my clothes on a hotel floor.

But I also want to see new things. Wonderful things. Old things that I've never seen before.

I've got it bad. Taking off 5 months to stay at home and recover from yet another airport disaster is enough. I ready to take it all on again.

My feet are itchy.

Now I just need a plane ticket. To a far away place.*



*Wishlist updated

Bad day

I had a different blog post related to couchsurfing planned for today and my day was looking up as I fondly recalled the great couchsurfing experiences I've had to date.

Until I opened an email alerting me to a new post on the South African Couchsurfing group. It was a post about safety.

I'm sure everyone has had bad couchsurfing experiences. My worse so far has been the guy with really strong body odour. It's less than nothing compared this woman's experience:

Chinese tourist 'raped' after being offered free bed for the night from man on 'couchsurfing' website

This is such sad news. Utterly heart breaking and I'm crying as I write this. Why must there always be people who ruin great things for others?

I have been extremely optimistic about the world as of late. I'm trying to tell myself that I should do everything in my power to keep it so. But I'm not sure I have the power to keep my spirits up.

EDIT: The meds have worn off and I'm less emotional and vulnerable than I was this morning. This could've happened anywhere, anytime, with anyone. Couchsurfer or not. The woman could have stayed with someone she knew well, or someone a friend she trusts recommended and she still could have been raped. I guess sometimes I just want the world to be too perfect even though I know it is not and can never be. Try explaining that. Reading about this took away the perfectness that I thought was couchsurfing but I should have known better, shouldn't I? Or I did but conveniently ignored it. I'll admit that it was less about a woman being violated than my 'perfect' world being shattered. But not by much.

I guess the attitude around this will be: stupid woman staying with a stranger. That is completely unfair. This is an isolated incident and will hopefully stay that way. I'm not going to let one reprehensible act ruin what has been up to now, and can continue being, a great experience for me. I hope the other good couchsurfers out there feel the same.

Something to blog about

Is it sad that one of your thoughts when the front of your car gets ripped off and you're then arrested for drunk driving*, is, "Well, at least I have something to blog about now".

After an epic Friday night, after passing out on my bed still wearing all my clothes and jewellery, I woke up still drunk and agreed that a spontaneous trip to wine country is a fantastic idea. It seemed the best way to avoid the coming hangover.

Gorgeous wine farms and wine, golf carts and one Reuben's lunch later* I found my car missing its front which was later loaded into the back.

Couchsurfer Lana with a headlight

I later got pulled over for driving with a damaged car. But it didn't help that the car smelled like a microbrewery because of spilled beer. So I was arrested and spent the next 3 or so hours at the police station, with 30 minutes or so in a dark, dank cell.** I was "nice" and they were overcrowded so I was released early. I didn't receive any horrible treatment besides being denied a lawyer and my own medical doctor*** but the condition of the cells were unbelievably horrible.****

*I didn't rip of the front of the car while driving drunk. In fact, the car was parked and I was buying chocolate when the front got ripped off. The driver who ripped off the front was kind enough to go and report it and get a case number. I've spoken to him and he assures me that all damage will be paid for.

**I'm not being melodramatic. None of the lights in the women's cells were working and it was damp due to the weather turning foul in the evening.

***To be discussed with my lawyer on Thursday.

****I might have to wrote a serious post, not in keeping with the lighthearted nature of this blog, about the horrendous conditions of jails and prisons.

Drapes of Knit

My education continues.

According to the latest House & Leisure, knitted home decor is all the rage. Now, I cannot stand knitted covers for cushion or ottomans or the like but I must say that a knitted throw is all in all cute. And I'm quite taken by, wait for it, knitted drapes.

So much so that I spent considerable time working out the logistics of knitting drapes. After realising that it would take me at least 6 months and 2 metre long knitting needles to complete but one drape, I gave up on the idea of knitting my own. What I need is a knitting machine. Anyone have one lying around somewhere?

Now I'm not talking about cutesy drapes like here. In fact any knitted drapes with any kind of pattern is frankly repugnant. I'm thinking more along the lines of big garter stitch, raw silk cum hessian effect. It would create a lovely bohemian look.


First home decor, now street art. Take a look at these anything-but-grannies decorating the streets of London:

There you have it: graffiti knitting. The creative 'anarchists' of Knit the City have blogs with titles like Whodunnknit and The Purple Purler.

Perhaps it is time to take my knitting talent to the next level. Right after I finish those drapes.

Paranormal romance and the weekend that was (in reverse)

The weekend that was was quite uneventful. Sunday I was forced out of bed by my mother insisting I come to the train station to see her off before she embarks on her trip to the north. I decided not to return to bed after the fare-thee-wells, and set off to Canal Walk to watch Harry Potter.

While browsing the bookstore before the start of the movie I was surprised to discover that not only does paranormal romance now officially have its own genre, there are also 8 shelves dedicated to it. The top shelf, of course, housing Stephanie Meyers' Twilight series. Why my surprise? Vampires, werewolves, ghosts, zombies, mutants and humans have been falling in and out of love with each other for aeons. But never did they receive a genre of their own. Nevermind 8 bookshelves. I blame Stephanie Meyers for this and I don't particularly care that the genre was in existence before Meyers wrote Twilight.

I enjoyed Harry Potter although large parts of the movie bored me and I just wanted them to get a move on to where spells are cast and people die. I reckon this is due to the fact that I've read the book and even then was not really all that interested in the love life of Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. I thoroughly enjoyed the scene where Harry has taken the Felix Felicis potion and recommend seeing the movie just for that scene.

Saturday I spent most of the day in bed, sleeping. I finally awakened sometime after 7pm and made my most delicious lasagna yet. But I have still to figure out how to not to run out of white sauce. The obvious solution would be to just make more white sauce, right? I'm waiting for this to sink in.

Friday night was the Mad Hatter's Christmas Tea Party at The Old Biscuit Mill. I was somewhat under a wrong impression, thinking that this would be the night version of the popular Neighbourgoods Market. Nonetheless, the event was utterly disappointing. I am now convinced that I missed my calling as an event planner after spending very little mental effort planning a Mad Hatter's Party and coming up with ideas infinitely better than the organisers of the event. This is because the organisers did not think beyond "Get people to wear hats/ties". The event was described as such:

Not your run of the mill Christmas in July

and

Come and join us for a fun-filled shopping experience. Exciting prizes for best dressed Hat or Tie or Both, Kids entertainment, wine farms – wine sales, Cape culinary experience, loads of entertainment for the whole family. An event not to be missed.

My first though is "Why combine Christmas in July and a Mad Hatter's tea party?" There is no logical connection and it's just asking to be overloaded in terms of catering for both themes. The shops were open. There was nothing fun-filled about it. I'm sure there were prizes although any mention of this at the event was scarce to be found. A few wine farms had their wares on offer. And on offer they were in the most inappropriate place, the entrance hall that was not big enough to keep the wine tasters out of the way of those wishing to just pass through.

The Cape culinary experience was mysteriously absent. Perhaps I arrived too late and all the food had been eaten. Besides for some tasty cookies there was not a crumb to be found. Or a drop, for that matter, that wasn't a meagre tasting from the wine farms. Yes, the on-site restaurant's bar was open but this was so poorly run that I turned around dry-throated after waiting 15 minutes. Kids' entertainment was in the form a most sorry, skinny arsed Santa Claus, not a 'ho' to be heard.

There was no atmosphere, no decoration, and no music. This tea party was definitely one that should have been skipped and after about an hour we went to find cocktails and food at the local watering hole which had infinitely more atmosphere, booze, food and entertainment than the Mad Hatter's affair.

Proliferation of bad taste

So I seem to have found the answer to my question about bad taste raised here in the oddest place.

I found it in Robert Rankin's The Hollow Chocolate Bunnies of the Apocalypse. You've probably guessed from the title of the book that Rankin is not a philosopher of any sort. But he does have a way of pointing out the obvious.

I quote:

Why it is that bad taste always triumphs over good is one those things that scholars love to debate, when they don't have anything better to do, such as getting a life and getting a girlfriend.
Is there actually such a thing as 'good taste'? they debate. Or 'Is it all merely subjective?'
Well, of course there is such a thing as good taste! Some things actually are better than other things, and people are capable of making the distinction.
But...
Bad taste will always ultimately triumph over good taste , because bad taste has more financial backing. There is far more profit to be made from selling cheap and nasty products, at a big mark-up, than selling quality items at a small mark-up. And you can always produce far more cheap and nasty items far nore quickly than you can produce quality items. Far more.

So, there we have it.

Anatomy

It's not anatomy that fascinates me. Rather it's the art that's developed from early anatomical drawings and models. Macabre stories like that of the 23 year old baby also beguile me.

I hold my reproduction of the 1st edition of Gray's Anatomy in high regard and have recently fallen in love with Andreas Vesalius prints* that I have need to own.

There is talk that the 2010 SIX tattoo convention will have anatomical hearts up for auction. This year's convention had skulls but dire financial circumstances prevented me from making a bid. Next year a heart will be mine.

The Wellcome Collection in London is exhibiting anatomical wax models featuring the model in the picture above. Distance prevents me from viewing the exhibition so I shall be an online voyeur.

I deem a curiosity cabinet* to be a necessity and shall make work to acquire one.


*Wishlist has been updated.

Swakopmund photos

Swakopmund is my second favourite international city (Barcelona being the first). Although Swakopmund is less a city and more a quiet seaside town. I'm glad they forgot to bomb it.*

Curios market. They take you for all you've got. (Picture has been cropped and reoutched.)

Tower ceiling in bookshop. (Unretouched.)

Desert chameleon. (Unretouched.)

Mussel carpet on the beach. (Slighty retouched.)

Creepy dentist room diorama in the museum. (Unretouched hence the fuzziness.)

*Morrissey reference for those who don't know.

Addicted to the needle (I love...tattoos)

For those who haven't read it, I'd like to draw your attention to a guest blog post by Anastasya, a good friend of mine, on her brother's blog, An Unquiet Day.

I love the last paragraph. It describes down to a T how I feel about tattoos and I could not have said it better myself.

People often tell me to slow down. They point out that tattoos are permanent... but face it – nothing is. Life is a fleeting, beautiful experience, and we make our surroundings as pleasant as possible while we're here. I decorate my body in the same way one decorates any dwellings. I put down meaningful symbolism, trying to capture as much of my journey as possible. This vessel isn't sacred. It is dust. What is important to me is the fleeting thoughts, feelings and ideas dwelling inside it, which I attempt to represent on the outside in small colourful icons.

I went to see Manuela at Wildfire again yesterday. To touch up my last piece and to discuss my next piece. I scheduled the next session for later in the year. It's a bigger piece and I will need to save some money for it.

I don't get any particular pleasure from the actual tattooing process. I don't have a needle fetish. Tattooing can be uncomfortable, painful some times, a tattoo is ugly when the scabbing starts and you want to scratch off a layer of skin when it starts healing.

But I love that buzzing sound. Knowing that soon I'll have another beautiful decoration on my body.

The weekend that was featuring cooking deluxe, expensive hobbies and the healing properties of potato

My mother visited this weekend. I was grateful because I have been neglecting the tasks I hate most: washing dishes and ironing. My mother really seems to enjoy these chores and I returned the favour (hopefully) by cooking her delicious meals consisting of foods she's never eaten, and taking her shopping (it turned out the shopping was all too much for her. And not because I was spending vast amounts of money).

Friday evening dinner was ostrich neck with Kalahari truffles in a white wine and cream sauce, served with ol' dependable mash. Ostrich is my favourite meat followed by crocodile. My mother was weary of the truffles but was soon won over by the earthy goodness of the meal. Lessons learned: (1) Ostrich neck is best slow cooked. (2) I cannot share my kitchen with a feline and my mother.

I got paid sometime Saturday and it was time to stock up on groceries. My cupboards have been bare for far too long. I returned home with a boot full of groceries. Lunch was a rustic pizza with caramelised onions, butternut and camembert. My camembert craving has been satisfied. Well, not really. I still have to deep fry the second wheel and serve it with St Dalfour's delicious fruit preserve. Dessert was truffles, of the chocolate variety this time.

After lunch it was time for more shopping. Off to Makro, Stodels and Canal Walk. I returned home with a boot full of plants, cooking pots, and a variety of storage jars and vases. By now 90% of my salary has already been spent.

I have never fooled myself into thinking that I do not have expensive tastes. My passive hobbies of reading and watching movies have set me back a fair bit in the monetary department. The costs of tattoos have doubled since my first tat 5/6 years ago.

I can now add terrariums to my list of expensive hobbies. Two trips to Stodels has cost me close R600. I will not mention the cost of the jars and vases but I will proudly show off the first of my finished terrariums.


The terrarium second from the left is my favourite. It stars a Rabbit's Foot Fern, black grass, and some ground cover of which I've forgotten the name. One more terrarium to go before I take a hiatus due to bankruptcy.

The rest of Saturday was spent watching a pork belly roasting slowly in the oven and designing one of my next tattoos: Alice in Wonderland. I had to fork out R49.95 for a sketching pad. How ridiculous. However, I'm very pleased that I have not lost all my ability to sketch. The sketches below were drawn freehand, copying from the original drawings (excluding Alice) in Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass.




I decided to have raisin bread and chocolate for breakfast on Sunday. While rooting in my mother's overnight back for chocolate, I discovered a potato. I enquired why my mother had stolen one of my potatoes. Of course, she didn't steal it but had brought it with her from home. Of course. I was puzzled. Apparently, sleeping with a potato in your bed prevents arthritis. Apparently, the entire older generation of my family swears by it. I'm thinking of getting my mother certified. I've recommended my cousins do the same to their parents.

By Sunday I had had it with cooking and had the usual Sunday lunch, nap on the couch, and tea at my cousin's. And of course there was heckling of the family about their strange bedfellows, the potatoes.

Introducing LotD/SotD

Lyrics of the Day/Song of the Day. Not much more to it. Do not expect a daily post. As with everything else in my life this will happen when the mood strikes. Some days, the mood strikes twice.

I've been listening to some Sunset Rubdown tracks for a few years now. Random ones downloaded off Pitchfork or music blogs. I've listened to them not knowing anything about the band. Today I found out that the band began as a solo project of Wolf Parade, a band I took quite a liking to a few years ago but due to my own laziness did not follow beyond their first album.

A need for new car music prompted listening to the random tracks downloaded recently.

Enter Sunset Rubdown's Idiot Heart:

Stay away from open windows, and put the telephone down. Can you run as fast as this house will fall when the alarm bell sounds? No, I was never much of a dancer, but I know enough to know you've got to move your idiot body around, and that you can't settle down until the idiot in your blood settles down. So move around... If I found you in this city called Paradise, I'd say, "I love you, but I hate this city, and I'm no prize." You want to walk around like you own the joint, the way that Icarus thought he might own the sky. I say, "You can't settle down until the Icarus in your blood, in your blood, drowns... And if I was a horse, I would throw up the reins if I was you."

But look at you go (into the fire-star). Look at you go (you are a meteor). Look at you go...

And you know your heart, and you know your heart... but it's an idiot heart. And you know your heart, and you know your heart... but you can't settle down. No, you can't settle down. So just move around...

I hope that you died in a decent pair of shoes, you've had a lot of long walking to do, where you're going to...

This song has inspired me to buy their newest album. The nicely titled Dragonslayer.

Ps. I do like my idiot so I'll keep moving around.